She Who Walks with Death
by The Queen of Asgard
Summary: Born from shadows and death, Freya Walker is a catalyst between the living and the dead. When Sam and Dean roll into town to investigate an uncanny amount of strange deaths, they instead learn about Freya and her role in tipping the scales in an unyielding war and her ties to Castiel that were made at the beginning of time. Castiel/OFC
1. Hunting

The old green pickup stopped outside the ramshackle old house with the creaking stairs and odd lean. The door of the car opened with a scream and a pair of scuffed cowboy boots and jeans were displayed visibly between the ground and the old rusty paint. The car's owner slammed the door and looked up at the old house. Night was beginning to fall upon the old homestead but the young woman didn't seem to mind. This was her territory to put to rest the demons that she had helped create here. She shouldered a black shotgun and shoved a long, wicked looking knife up her sleeve, tugging her plaid shirt down to hide the bulge.

A dog pressed his face up against the window of the truck, smearing drool all over the window. The girl chortled and pressed her hand against the window.

"Hold the fort down, Bodinski." She said softly, slowly walking up the stairs, wincing as they creaked underneath her. She didn't think that she was going to be coming here any time soon but the idiotic teenagers who had tried to have sex here had proven otherwise. They (meaning the police) had said it was a murder suicide. The woman wanted to prove otherwise. She grabbed the shotgun and used the muzzle to open the door, the door squealing on rusty hinges. She disliked coming into this house. It held far too many memories for her. Why Steven had chosen to come back now boggled her mind but it seemed that she was just a magnet for the paranormal. Maybe he came back because it would be a signal for her or maybe he came back because of other reason, she didn't want to know.

"Freya," The whisper made the hair on the back of her neck stand straight up. She whipped around to see him standing there, blood seeping from the jagged cut at his neck, his gaunt eyes still handsome, even in death.

The woman held the gun up so he could see, "Steve," she snarled.

"Why did you..." He asked softly before stopping. With a grunt, he pulled a knife out of his back and held it up to show her, "Why did you do this to me?"

"I didn't, Steven..." Freya began to say but before she could get anything else out, he began to run at her, knife raised, "I'm so sorry but this is for your own good."

She cocked the shotgun and pointed it right at the ghost before a shot that made her ears hurt echoed through the room. Steven dissapeared and Freya let out a sigh of relief, legs shaking. She knew that he was still here but to find him...she would have to use other means of communication and she didn't like being so exposed. Jogging back out to the car, she tried to open the door but to her horror, found that it was stuck. Bo was barking like mad and she almost didn't bother to turn around, deciding to jiggle the car handle instead. Almost being the key word. She saw Steven's face in the glass the knife poised.

"FUCK!" She yelped and dodged out of the way. This was no normal ghost. This was a poltergeist. A spirit that had taken on the form of another through a rift that had appeared from the tradgedy of the house. A ghost wouldn't harm her. They wouldn't risk having their souls being on the bad side of Freya's father but a poltergeist would care less. Steven swung the blade at Freya but she managed to dodge out of the way, the glass window shattering behind her, raining pieces of ice upon her back. Bo barked wildly but wouldn't jump out of the car unless his master commanded him to.

"Your fear pleases us, Walker Child..." Steven hissed, his eyes no longer handsome but demonic and terrifying, "We will take your pain and death and sacrifice to to leave this pathetic house."

"Over my fucking dead body," she snarled, bringing up her shotgun to protect herself from the evil spirit. With a hiss, the poltergeist feigned for the right but actually hit her left, side, leaving a gash down her arm. She howled in pain, knowing that the bite of a poltergeist would mean a long and agonizing death for most people. However, Freya Walker was not like most people. She rolled out of the way just long enough to keep herself on her toes. Her wound was making her dizzy but she managed to stand up and face the monster. His form shifted between the sad eyes of Steven to the maniacal gaze of a creature that had damned itself long ago.

"Give up, little Walker," it seethed, tossing the very real knife from hand to hand, "You cannot defeat us."

"Wanna bet?" Freya smirked, running her hand along the open wound. Her blood shone like silver in the rising moonlight as she ran towards the creature, arms reaching out to destroy it. She knew that it was going to hurt when she plunged his knife straight through her hand but it would be worth it. With a roar to wake the dead, Freya ran right towards the monster, the knife cutting through her skin, muscle and bone like butter. She yelled in pain but the poltergeist screamed even louder than she did. As soon as her blood touched its etheral body, it began to writhe and burn, pieces falling away like smoldering paper.

"You are cursed with Death!" It screamed, flailing like a fish out of water as more blood poured from his hand. He tried to escape but the blood held him there. She raised the other hand and placed it on his forehead, making the poltergeist wriggle and cry out. It melted down until the only thing that remained was a pile of bloody ashes and the knife in Freya's hand.

A sob escaped her lips and she fell to the ground, trying to pry the knife from her hand. However, it was too much. She had to try but the pain and agony was just too much.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and she looked up to see a tall man in a dark black suit smiling down at her, "Oh Freya," He mused, "What have you gotten yourself into this time?" He reached down and with the care of an experienced doctor, quickly and gently removed the knife. She whimpered when she saw all the blood but when the man handed her a cloth she didn't complain, "Not the way I would have quite done it but that was nonetheless clever."

Freya let out a weak little laugh before hissing in pain again, "T-thanks, Dad. I don't think that it really knew what it was messing with."

The man stood up swiftly before brushing his hands off on his immaculate black suit, "They never do." He helped her stand up, taking her hands in his own, "I can stop the bleeding for a little while but you really should get to the hospital and get stitches."

Freya gave a pained little chuckle, "What should I tell them this time?"

"You slipped in the kitchen with a knife." He said simply before letting go of her hands. True to his words, the bleeding had stopped, but her hands were still covered in sticky red, "Now go. You have to leave."

She nodded and made towards the truck before turning around to face the man in black, "Hey, Dad?" The older man gave her a smile, allowing her to continue, "If there wasn't a soul around here, what were you doing here?"

"Ah, the crux of the matter, my dear. I did indeed have two souls to collect," He pointed at his wristwatch and gave her a smile, "Daniel and Rachel are now resting in paradise."

"But...what about Steven?" Freya asked quickly, "I guess I never really asked that before but where did he go?"

The smile turned sad and he nodded to her cuts, "You'd better get that looked at." With a wave of his hand, the man dissapeared into the darkness, leaving Freya alone to tend to her whimpering dog and oozing wounds. Turning towards the car, she reached in and unlocked the door. It swung open with another scream, making the young woman roll her eyes. Crawling in beside her dog, he gave her cheek a lick as she started up the engine, driving away into the cold night.

* * *

"OUCH!"

"Will you please stay still, Freya?" Her best friend Julie hissed, pushing the needle into her skin once again. They had been friends for a very short while, but when they did become friends, it was fast. While Julie had moved to the area a mere 3 months ago while Freya had lived there her entire life, both found solace in music and animals. While the vet did find it odd to be coming over to her friend's house at 2 in the morning to be lacing up a rather nasty cut on her hand and arm (kitchen knife her ass) she was always willing to help an animal in need.

Freya downed another swig of tequila and winced again, her friend shooting disapproving glances in her general direction, "I wish you'd just go to a hospital. This is getting ridiculous."

"Your face is ridiculous." Freya scowled, finishing off the bottle, "The hospital asks too many questions."

"You're insane. I don't even know why I'm doing this." Julie sighed, tying off the string and dabbing the cut with a sterile cloth, "You should just get over your fear of rooms that smell like rubbing alcohol and just go! Not like you don't already have enough alcohol in your veins..."

Freya let a snort escape her lips, "I am not scared of the hospital itself, I'm scared of the bill." She retorted.

Julie dropped another bloody rag into the garbage and put her needle, tongs and rest of her gear away before bandaging up Freya's arm and hand, "Look Freya, I love you but whatever you're doing, you've gotta stop. I'm not going to sit by idle while you go down a path of self destruction!"

Freya sighed and rolled her eyes, the alcohol numbing her senses, "I'm not going down a path of self destruction. Just a path that keeps humanity from going down the goddamed toilet."

Julie shook her head and stood up, stretching. The clock on Freya's mantle said that it was almost four in the morning. She would be getting up in two hours anyway but she had to go home and at least take a shower. Her head was throbbing and her mouth was dry. She could only imagine how her friend felt. "I'm not even going to respond to that. Anyway, I'm going home. I'll talk to you tomo...er, I mean today to see how you're doing, okay?"

"Mmhmm," Freya mumbled, almost falling off the kitchen counter, stumbling towards her bedroom, "I'll see you in the morning..."

Julie turned on her heel and walked out the door, making sure to lock it behind her. She knew how her friend got when she got drunk and she knew it wouldn't be long until she crashed and burned. She had consumed half a bottle of straight up liquor. Not an unusual task for Freya but she Julie could still worry. She nearly stumbled down the stairs herself, yawning as she opened the car door and started the ignition, unaware of the black Impala at the end of the driveway.

* * *

**So, this is my first shot at a Supernatural fanfiction. Hopefully it will grow because unfortunately, I'm still on Season 5. I'm going to be so upset when I get to the end of it on Netflix and there's no more to watch. (This is taking place between Season 4 and 5.) **

**Anyway, fun fact time! Freya Walker is actually based on a very close friend of mine who I admire and felt she would be a pretty badass hunter. Same first name and some pretty funny traits. So, Freya, you crazy ginger this is for you. You are now my character and there's nothing you can do about it. Ha. **

**As always, reviews are appreciated and accepted with open arms. Until next time my minions!**

**Queenie**


	2. Arrival of the Brothers

-12 Hours Earlier-

* * *

The 1967 Chevy Impala rumbled its way into town, the engine purring like a kitten. Behind the wheel was a who might have been better known to a different crowd of people. Dean Winchester leaned out the window and narrowed his eyes, looking down the street to maybe catch a glimpse of whatever his little brother had been talking about. Sam, who just so happened to be sitting in the passenger seat, opened up the newspaper and frowned, his eyebrows coming together.

"Dude, this doesn't make any sense," Dean complained, flicking his eyes over to the newspaper his brother held again, "I mean, what could be in this one little town in the middle of God-only-Knows-Where, North Dakota to create such a hotbed of activity?"

Sam scoffed and folded the newspaper, his posture one of slight irritation, "Maybe if you actually listened the first four times I told you, you might actually use your brain and think." Looking out the window, Sam noted the rustic charm of the little town...Bristol, if he remembered correctly, and the people who all seemed to know each other rather well, "48 freak deaths in the last two decades alone, in a town with only 3,000 people. Seems a little suspicious to me."

"Demons?" Dean questioned, turning on his blinker and nearly running over a pedestrian.

"No, I don't think so. Just weird deaths that nobody can really explain. Most people have ridden them off as accidental but there's just too many to seem coincidental." Sam read, pulling out a piece of paper with print on it, "Take this one for example, 4 teenage girls driving down the road in 1999. Their car loses steering and goes plowing into the Bushman's River. Water was at a record high and they couldn't get out in time. All of them died. All of them were so called "bullies" in high school."

Dean pursed his lips, obviously not impressed, "Okay, yeah so what else?"

"Steven Hartley died of a knife wound when he and his girlfriend snuck out and decided to get in on in an old abandoned house in 1997," Sam muttered, flipping through more papers, "The girlfriend made it out unscathed by the murder. There are pages upon pages of these sorts of things happening...Horses kicking people in the head and sending them into comas...Car accidents, fires, shootings...all beginning in 1981."

"What happened in 1981?" Dean asked, pulling into the parking lot of yet another shady looking hotel...probably the only one in the resort town.

"Immaculate conception," Sam announced sarcastically, producing yet another piece of paper, "1981, Veronica Walker claims to have seen the face of an angel and had his baby, a girl named Freya Walker. She died ten years later in a car accident."

"Guess her angel couldn't save her," Dean chuckled, opening the car door, "Well, let's start out with the local authorities and work our way up from there. In a town with this many deaths there's got to be at least one ghost floating around here. Maybe we'll strike gold."

"Maybe, but I have a feeling that it's a lot stranger than just that," Sam mused, following his brother to the front desk where some toothless old hag sat, drawing scribbles on a piece of hotel stationary.

* * *

"Hello, I'm Agent Kent and this is my partner, Agent Hammond, FBI," Dean and Sam flashed their badges at the gullible sheriff who was sitting behind a desk, munching away at an apple. He had already introduced himself as Sheriff Richard Smith.

Smith arched an eyebrow and pulled his feet off his desk, scooting back to take a good look at the two, "What can I do for you boys?" He asked, obviously not too interested in helping them at all.

"We just wanted to ask you some questions about the town," Dean explained, "About the strange deaths that have seem to have been occurring."

Smith sighed and sat back down at his desk, with a gentle _thump_ that rocked the building, "What's more to say, really? We've just seem to have a rather horrible occurring string of bad luck in the last 20 years...starting with that damned crazy, Veronica."

"Can you tell us anything about her?" Sam asked quickly...a little too quickly for the sheriff's liking. He leaned forward and arched an eyebrow, taking a bite of his apple.

"Now what's a bunch of black-suited, government men doing asking about some crazy woman?" he asked with pursed lips, "There's nothing more to say about her. She was crazy and that daughter of hers is even crazier! Shocked she hasn't moved out of town yet, all the grief she's put up with people over the years..."

"Her daughter still lives here?!" Dean asked in surprise, "Can you tell us where?"

"Shit boy, you don't want to go talk to her. She's the reason that we've got all the death in this town!" The sheriff chortled at his own little joke, "Joke's aside boys, she's a dangerous individual. Doesn't really talk to anyone and whenever I see her she's always cut up and bruised. She's the one who escaped the night that Steven Hartley died. She's been in the middle of quite a few of the deaths that have taken place around these parts."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, leaning forward.

"Well...most of the people who have died had some role to play in her life. She's like the plague. If you want, I can show you the reports from the different deaths where she's known the person." He stood up and fumbled at his belt for a loop of keys, "Just have Meg over there show you where the police reports are kept. Just tell her what you're looking for. I'd love for some reason to put Freya Walker behind bars."

With another chuckle, he went back to munching on his apple happily, absentmindedly working away at his computer. Dean shot Sam a glance and his brother gave him a subtle nod. This might be their answer to the paranormal part of it. If this Freya was a demon or something similar, they would have to put her down and it wouldn't be easy.

They thanked the sheriff and then turned to go back the hallway, stopping at the secretary's desk, the key ring jingling jauntily in Dean's hand. "Can you show us where the police records are kept, sweetheart?" he asked smoothly, the humble looking secretary looking flustered and pink at the onslaught of attention.

She showed them into a back room with filing cabinets lined up neatly against the walls, "The ones you're looking for are over here," She steered them over to a larger set of drawers, "If you need help finding anything, please don't be afraid to ask," She allowed her eyes to linger on Dean's muscular frame for a moment longer before bustling away back to text her friend about the handsome FBI agent.

"Okay, let's get started," Sam pulled out a file and began to thumb through it. They did this for about a half an hour before either one found anything, "Esther Cooke, passed away in a coma in 1992 after her horse kicked her in the head. Family at the time happened to be her husband and two children and one foster child, Freya Walker."

"That must be the one. Did you find anything out about the group of girls that drowned in the river?" Dean asked, pulling out another file, "Oh! Here's the one for Veronica Walker's death. Whoa! She was actually kinda hot for a crazy woman!"

"Give me that," Sam said, exasperated, "Says here that her car crashed into a tree going 80 miles an hour...no car failure, no nothing. It looked like she had just driven off the road and crashed."

"Creepy." Dean muttered with a shiver, "Hey, I think I found the one with the four girls and guess what? They were all seniors in high school and had shown aggressive behavior to one individual in particular."

"Let me guess, Freya Walker."

"Bingo." Dean looked at a few more but the signs were clear. Freya Walker was acquainted with the victim or their families in some way, "What do you think? Demon?"

"Possibly," Sam mused, turning his attention to a newer looking folder, "Hey, this was from the same house that Freya escaped from. Opening it, his eyes scanned the words, "Two teenagers snuck into the same house and both were murdered."

"Any relationship to our Freya?" Dean asked, looking over his brother's shoulder.

Sam shot him a glare but chose not to acknowledge him for obnoxiously looking over his shoulder, "No, it looks like they didn't know Freya at all."

"So...what are you thinking? Residual haunting of the boyfriend, Steven?" Sam asked, putting the file down.

"Only one way to find out," Dean confirmed, the two quickly exiting the little room.

* * *

They had stopped outside Freya's house to see if they could find her. Their search turned out to be nothing more than a half an hour of tree after tree on a bumpy dirt road. They could tell that Freya had been there quite recently because of the dry spot where a car had sat against the wet gravel. For a house so far out of town, it was actually rather nice with a wraparound porch and flower baskets hanging, the soil ladened with summer blooms.

"Okay, if she's not here, where do you think she went?" Dean asked irritably, trying to think of another place she could have gone, "I mean she's obviously not much of a people person if everyone she's ever had a relationship with dies?"

"Well, maybe we can check out that house that those two died in? Maybe she does actually have something to do with that." Sam suggested.

"Yeah, alright. Might as well." Dean muttered, putting the car in reverse and driving away, leaving trail of gravel in his wake.

The drive wasn't as long but it was still pretty damned long. Another half an hour gave way to another road, this one in even worse shape, shaking the Impala and taking full advantage of her shocks. Dean winced every time the car bottomed out but kept going. It was getting dark and they had no idea how far the house was from them so they decided to walk.

"Dude, do you hear something?" Sam asked quietly, shifting his gun from arm to arm, "I swear to God I just heard a gunshot."

"Yeah, sounded like a shotgun," Dean agreed, hastening his steps, "Come on! She might be killing someone!"

They finally found the old, dilapidated house and watched as a woman came stumbling out, shotgun over one shoulder, racing over to her old pickup truck. A dog's muffled bark could be heard as she fumbled for the lock and they watched in horror while she was thrown back, a ghost wielding a knife coming after her. They heard it hiss and saw her wince but both found that they were completely stuck. Neither could move at all. Watching, they saw her hold up her shotgun as a shield and heard the wet, slicing noise of flesh being cut. Still, she fought on like a wildcat.

Finally, with one last attempt, they saw her run at the ghost...poltergeist as both could now figure out, and watched as the knife went through her hand and watched as her blood met the spector's body, melting it into a pile of screaming, festering ashes. The woman fell to the ground and tried to get the knife out of her hand but couldn't do it. Looking up, she began to speak to someone. Either they couldn't see them or perhaps she really was crazy because she talked to the person like she knew them, at one point even calling them Dad!

It was only when she managed to stand up and limp to her truck and drive away were Dean and Sam able to move.

"Did you see that?" Dean hissed, standing up, "And why the hell couldn't we move?"

"I don't know," Sam muttered, brushing off his pants, "But that was really fucking weird. What did she do to that poltergeist?"

"No idea. Melted it, it looks like." Dean kicked the pile of ashes, sending them fluttering into the breeze, "So now she's a hunter?"

"And a crazy one at that," Sam said, leaning down to inspect the tire marks, "Well, she definitely did something to it.

"But what?" Dean asked, looking up at the house, "It's obvious that she may be a little on the crazy side but what she did...I've never seen anyone do that before."

"Well then, why don't we go find out?" Sam asked with a little smirk, the two beginning their long trek back out to the Impala to go wait for their mysterious hunter to appear again.

* * *

**Chapter two! Woo! Thanks to all that read and the two that followed it! Nice to know that there's someone who's actually reading the stuff I post. **

**As always, reviews are splendid, anything you can provide is splendid, critiques are encouraged and praise is always accepted! Until next time, my fellow fanfictioneers! **

**Chilling on an ice cube, **  
**Queenie**


	3. Of Shadows and Life

The knocking awoke Freya sooner than the headache did. Snorting, she rolled over in bed, trying to avoid looking down at the already blood soaked bandages, probably the result of ripping her stitches while she was sleeping. With her head pounding, she sat up, trying to fight off the nausea that was bubbling up inside her.

"Note to self," she muttered, throwing on a tee shirt and jeans, "No more tequila when you get ganked by a ghost." Bodinski, her ultimate protector, saw that his owner was awake and came bounding over to say hello, "Hello boy, yes I love you too." A smile flickered to her face as he covered her face in slobber. Coffee would have to wait until she dealt with the clown who was hanging out on her front porch. Stumbling over a discarded shoe, she swore under her breath, trying to keep the throbbing of her injured hand and arm to a dull ache.

Fortunately, it was cloudy outside and she had never been quite as light sensitive while hungover as most people. She hobbled over to the front door and unlocked it, Bodinski sitting by her side, tongue lolling to the side. Standing on her front porch were two men in black business suits with fancy ties and shoes. They looked almost uncomfortable standing there, something that Freya knew quite a bit about from the townsfolk that shied away from her...which was basically all of them.

"Well who sent the Candygram?" She asked with a lopsided leer, "Or maybe you two just got lost. Town's back the other way, kids. Hit the road." She turned to go back into her house when one of the men stopped her. He cleared his throat awkwardly and she found herself turning around, her hand finding itself on Bodinski's head, scratching it absentmindedly.

"Are you Freya Sophie Walker?" He asked. He was handsome but not as handsome as the other one with quite a bit of brown hair and and puppy dog brown eyes. He was the one who looked the most uncomfortable. He was not a born liar unlike the other one who looked as cool as a cucumber in June.

"Who wants to know?" She asked suspiciously. As if on cue, both men took something out of their jacket pockets and flashed them in front of her eyes.

"Agents Kent and Hammond, FBI." The taller one stated in an authorative voice.

"Now wait just a second," She held up one hand and opened it, "Can I see one of those badges?"

The taller man hesitated, trying to figure out what to say, "Now, you can't do that. We're FBI agents..."

"Yeah, yeah, so sue me in court. Let me see one of those goddamned badges." She arched an eyebrow and waited for them to relent. Finally the one with the floppy hair took his out and put it in her hand, "Yeah, that's what I thought."

Opening it up, she inspected the paper and print on the card before finally running her fingers across the badge itself. Freya paused, really debating whether or not she wanted to admit that she knew the gig was up. Finally, she handed it back before giving them another cockeyed smile. "So, I'll make you a deal boys. You tell me who you really are and I'll tell you want you want to know. Deal?"

Both men looked startled and taken aback, "Ma'am, I think you're making a big mistake..."

"Mistake, mishtake. I know what an FBI badge looks like when I see it. Lord knows I've had more than one come and talk to me in the past 17 years." She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose to try and avoid falling over with nausea, "Look. I'm hungover, you guys are standing on my door and McFlops," She said, idicating to the one with the longer hair, "If you're going to pass as an FBI agent, do the world a favor and cut your fucking hair."

"Er, okay." He said, bringing a hand up to subconciously tug on one longer strand.

"Now, spill the beans. What are you two doing on my front porch?" She asked coldly, leaning against the doorframe. Finally, the one with blue eyes and a nice jaw spoke up.

"My name is Dean, this is my brother Sam. We're..." He sighed and closed his eyes, "Look, all you need to know is that we saw you fighting last night. We're on the same team! We're hunters too."

Her eyes widened and she quickly ushered them inside, nearly tripping over the giant Saint Bernard, "Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea? Water?"

"Got any tequila?" Dean teased, indicating to the smell that still circulated around the house. Freya shot him a look that could freeze Hell over. He should know. He had been there.

"What I do in my house is none of your buisness, Candygram." She hissed, reaching over and grabbing three mugs. Sam sat down on the couch and looked up at the fireplace. A pair of crossed swords glittered in the dim light of the living room, hung up in front a shield. "Don't mind the antiques. They're from my mom."

"That's what we came here to talk to you about." Dean said, sitting down next to Sam, glancing up at the swords. Freya walked into the living room with a tray of three mugs of coffee and a big tall glass of water.

"I'm afraid you're wasting your time," She said, sitting down across from the two. From this angle, they could see what they were really dealing with. She was smaller, probably only about five and a half feet with a slender frame. Her wavy dishwater blonde hair hung from a lopsided braid and her eyes were a dull gray color like sterling silver. Dean had also noted that when she smiled, she had just the ghost of a dimple on her left side. She was pretty in a 'fuck-you-I-don't-care-what-I-look-like' sort of way. She probably would have looked extraordiarily silly with makeup on, "I don't talk about my mother. I've already told the cops everything they need to know and there is no way in Hell I'm going to go and tell my entire life's story to a bunch of fucking hunters."

"What about the town?" Sam asked, picking up the mug of coffee. Dean had tried to go for the glass of water but Freya's sharp hands had slapped his away, leaving his pride just a little sore.

"What about it? They hate me, I hate them. Pretty simple." She shrugged and sipped from the glass, condensation running down her fingers, "What's more to explain?"

"What about the deaths that you've been connected with?" Dean asked, instantly regretting the question. Freya took the glass down from her lips and narrowed her eyes in distrust.

"There's nothing more to discuss with you. I suggest you two show yourselves out or I will be forced to go and retrieve my shotgun." She snapped, trying to stave off a throbbing headache.

"What did you do to that poltergeist last night?" Sam asked quickly, catching the blonde's eyes, "I've never seen anyone do anything like that before. It was almost like it was hurt by your blood or something."

She seemed to deflate slightly, looking down at her glass of water, "It was."

"How did you do that?! What's in your blood that makes it to toxic against the supernatural?" Dean asked, jumping into the conversation.

She glanced up at him and sighed deeply, closing her eyes, "I'm sorry that I was so hostile. I'm not used to have people actually sit in my living room over a cup of coffee. I'm so used to everyone in this stupid town hating me and blaming me for everything. I didn't hurt anybody...at least, I didn't mean to."

"What do you mean, Freya?" Sam asked softly, trying to coax the answers out of her.

"I...Well, I guess I should probably explain some things to you," She stood up, still clutching her water. Bodinski jumped up with her, wagging his tail in excitement, "Come on. Let me show you something."

She led them into a study with books upon books that put Bobby's own collection to shame. Sitting down on the floor, she grabbed on and ushered them to sit down as well. As soon as they had done this, Bodinski attempted to put his chin on the knee Dean's nice black suit. Freya shot him a glare when he shooed Bodinski away but allowed the hurt Saint Bernard to lay his chin on her own knee. "I'm sure you talked to the sheriff about my mother."

Sam shot his brother a glance but Dean merely nodded, allowing her to continue, "Let me just say that my mother, regardless to what he had to say, wasn't crazy. I'm not crazy and I sure as hell am not going to let one fucking asshole tell me that I'm insane. " She cleared her throat and opened the book. Inside lay dozens of photos of the same brunette woman they had seen in the police report, "My mother was a hunter. There have been hunters in my family for as long as anyone could ever remember, passing down everything. Mom was also...a little different. Every 4 or 5 generations or so, there would be a Walker."

"Isn't that what your family name is though?" Dean asked, brushing off a piece of dog hair from his suit's lapel. She rolled her eyes and winced as the headache flared up again.

"No. My family name is derived from the term, Walker. A Walker is someone who is able to see the living...but they can also see things beyond a realm that is our own. They can see the dead that walk the Earth and the Reapers that collect their souls. They can't do anything about it but they can see what is around them."

"What do you mean?" Sam questioned, trying to picture what she meant.

Freya pursed her lips before choosing her words carefully, "Imagine you're wearing a pair of goggles and you submerge yourself halfway in a pool of water. Sure, you're going to see the surface, the world of the living, if you will but underneath you see things that once were and things that are just shadows now." She sighed again and drank deeply from the glass of water, finishing the whole thing off in five or six giant gulps, "My mother had that ability. She could see what lay beyond our world and what lay beyond. Now, I'm not talking Heaven or Hell or anything. She wasn't that powerful but that's how she met my father."

"Your father?" Dean asked skeptically.

The dog lifted his head off his owner's lap and gave Dean a stern look, like a teacher whose pupil had just said possibly the stupidest thing he had ever heard in his life, "Yes. My father. His name was...well, is Thomas. He touched my mother with his sight and yes, she believe he was an angel. Possibly he tricked her or maybe she wanted to be with him, I'm not sure. I was born 9 months later. I was born out of wedlock between death and blood. That's what my mother always used to tell me. Almost poetic, if you ask me."

"So...what you're telling me is that you're half Reaper?" Sam asked slowly. Freya took the pictures and gave them to Sam and Dean.

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm telling you. If you don't believe me, go soak your head." She said icily, before returning to the book, "However, when they met...weird things started happening. People in our town began to die in really weird ways and my mom was blamed because of her sight and because she claimed to have been given a child by an angel. When I was born, maybe she really was crazy. We never moved out of this house because Mom didn't like the idea of us moving closer into town because of what was going on. Then...she died and my dad became over protective of me. Anyone who even touched his little girl in a malicious way would have their death warrant handed to them early. I wish he would stop but he didn't. I saw their souls leave their bodies and walk into my dad's arms. It was on the night that the four girls died that I finally put my foot down. I tried to stop him, I threatened I would move away but I couldn't. They started coming back."

"Who did?" Dean asked, leaning slightly forward.

"The ghosts did." She said softly, "ghosts and spirits that died under my father's hand began to reappear and I had to put them down. My dad of course was furious with me that I had started hunting again but I didn't care. They didn't deserve to be on this Earth a moment longer than they needed to. I thought I at least owed them that. Finally, Thomas started to see the error of his ways and as soon as I would burn their bones or scatter their ashes, he would come and collect their soul. In the last couple of years things have been attracted to the ghosts and rifts between veils that my father's created with the pain and sorrow from the people he released into the world."

"Can a Reaper even do that?" Sam asked, his eyebrows furrowing together, "I mean, can they really honestly do something like that?"

Freya shrugged, "I guess so. I mean, my dad can but I guess you have to be certain kind of Reaper to be able to have sex with a fully human woman, right? He once told me that he had once sat by the side of Lucifer and drank from his cup but that was when Reapers only followed Satan. Now they're more...nuetral. When death entered the world, he said that they were an evil force but as time went on, both sides used them as a way to get souls to their rightful resting place."

"So, the poltergeist that attacked you last night," Sam continued, "You were able to burn it with your blood. How?"

"Blood of the Reaper isn't normally toxic to a supernatural force," She said, absentmindedly petting a now sleeping Bodinski, "Nor is human blood. But the shadows and life create a lethal toxin for anything that lurks in the darkness." She closed her eyes and sighed, leaning back, chortling slightly, "Death and life. So cliched but always so heartbreaking when you look at it from either side. I stand in the middle, an eternal twilight that covers my eyes." She opened them again and gave them a sad smile, "That's why death is my constant companion. I live with one foot in either world, belonging in neither."

"So poetic I could almost burst," Dean said sarcastically, making Freya scoff and stand up, causing the Saint Bernard to be woken up.

"If you don't like it, you are more than welcome to leave, Candygram." She snapped. Dean stood up and met her face to face his eyes narrowed.

"Now listen here, sweetheart. I've been to Hell and I've seen what Reapers can do. Someone who causes death is just as bad as a Reaper in my book." He snarled, pointing an accusing finger at her, "You're just as bad as the monsters you hunt!"

The woman scoffed and turned on her heel, turning back to her pictures, "Just...leave me alone! I'm sorry I told you assholes anything!"

"No, wait, please Freya," Sam tried to make amends but it was too late. Whipping around, both brothers could see that she had tears in her eyes.

"I said _GET OUT_!" She yelled, putting a hand on the back of each and shoving them towards the door. When they found themselves on her front porch, both saw what they had done, "Leave me the hell alone! Stay away from me! Don't fucking touch me! Get out of here before my dad finds you and if I see you again, I will make sure that he finds you and shows you what he really does!" With that, the door slammed in their faces and both brothers were left blinking in the overcast sky.

"Well, I say that went pretty well. Now all we gotta do is find Big Daddy Reaper, kill him and maybe then she'll lose some of that toxic blood, eh?" Dean asked, arching an eyebrow.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Dean?!" Sam spat angrily, looking back at Freya's house, "She told us her entire life's story and you went and spat in her face like she was just another monster."

"She _is_ another monster, Sam! She's the daughter of something that's been killing people for over two decades and so it's either going to be us that kills it or we're going to kill her." Dean snarled, storming back to the Impala, "So I suggest you think of something quick before I decide to take matters into my own hands."

* * *

**Two chapters?! One day?! I'm on a roll! Thanks to all those new story followers and the one who favoritied it! You guys rock my world! *Does a little dance across the kitchen floor* So, anyway, again reviews are encouraged as are critiques and as always praise is just lovely. If I've made someone out of character, don't hesitate to tell me. If I got something in canon wrong, please don't hesitate to tell me! **

**Until next time my Supernatural friends! **

**Hunting monsters in the dark,**  
**Queenie**


	4. The Wraith

Freya sat on her bed and tried to keep her hands from shaking and tears from falling from her eyes. Bodinski looked up at his master, his tail thumping against the ground in an attempt to calm her. She couldn't keep it under control anymore. Racing to the bathroom, she allowed her body to convulse, taking up a shocking amount of bile. She cried into the toilet, her tears silent and unheard. Her arm hurt and her hand hurt even more. She would probably be out of the game for awhile when it came to hunting but maybe if she rested up...

Even if she was the daughter of a Reaper, she still healed like a human; slow, painfully, and would be agonizingly handicapped until she healed. Until then, Bristol was at the mercy of two hunters that would stop at nothing to get the deaths to stop. Despite the tears and vomit, she gave the bowl of the toilet just a ghost of a smile. They would have their luck cut out for them if they wanted to find Thomas. Not that they would be able to see him anyways.

Sitting up, she sighed and walked back into her room where she promptly flopped down on her bed and closed her eyes, wishing she could sleep some more.

"Freya," A man's deep, somber voice made her crack open an eyelid. She and her father shared quite a few of the same attributes. Same dark blonde hair, same crinkle of the brow when they were annoyed, and same indent of a dimple on the left side. The only difference was that his eyes were cold and a calculating ice blue and he always seemed to have a haughty attitude whenever she saw him. "Are you alright?"

"Do I look alright?" She asked gruffly, closing her eyes again, "I have hunters who want me dead. HUNTERS, Dad. People like me who said I was a monster."

"I know of Sam and Dean Winchester." Thomas mused, sitting down on the bed, "Dean escaped from Hell and Sam...well, he's died and has come back as well."

She opened her eye again, "You mean the Sam and Dean Winchester?"

"Who else would I mean?"

She sat up, ignoring the ache that had seemed to have found its way into her bones, "Honestly, I didn't put two and two together." Biting her lower lip, she glanced over at the clock on her bedside table. It read 11:30 in the morning, nearly lunch time, "But I doubt you came all this way to tell me who those two hunters were."

"No, I didn't." Her father flicked his eyes to the window, "There's…something up in the woods. I don't know what it is. It's put up a barrier that I cannot see around. You must go and fight whatever it is."

"Sounds good."

"AND bring along Sam and Dean."

"Dad!" Freya scoffed and turned to glare at her father who merely arched an eyebrow, "Obviously you didn't hear them call me an abomination!"

He chuckled and shook his head like she was a small child who had refused to share her toys, "You need to put aside your distaste for them and work with them. It must be done if you are to stop whatever this is."

"Okay, fine. Do you know…?" She began to say but looking back over, she saw her father was gone, "You asshole." She scowled, sitting up and grabbing her favorite sweatshirt and heading towards the shower. Hissing when she took the bandages off, she glanced down to see that her hand was still raw and red.

"There's no way in hell that I'm fighting anything with this hand." She muttered as she stripped and allowed the hot water to douse her body.

* * *

"I still can't believe that you said that to her," Sam grunted, poring over a computer, "I mean, seriously Dean? She was our best bet of finding anything out and you had to go and insult her."

"Well, I didn't know she was going to react so violently." Dean scoffed, coming out of the bathroom. "So, technically, it's not my fault."

"Can't you call your Reaper friend Tessa and see what's going on?" Sam asked irritably. Dean chuckled and then sat down, removing one shoe.

"She doesn't work like Cass." Dean muttered, laying down on the bed.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Both brothers looked up to glance at each other, "Did you call room service?"

"No," Dean sat up and grabbed the pistol on the bedside table. Sam grabbed his own and closed the computer lid, standing up and striding over to the other side of the door. On the count of three, Dean turned the door knob and peered outside…surprised to see the tired face of Freya Walker outside, her faithful pooch at her side.

"Er, hey…Dean, wasn't it?" She gave him a sheepish smile and wondered if he should just gank her where she stood. However, he had a feeling that underneath that jean jacket, she was armed to the teeth and the dog would probably be a little more of a threat to him than she would be.

"What do you want, Freya?" He asked coldly. The blonde shifted awkwardly from side to side and shoved her hands into her pockets.

"Uh, I was sent me here. Wasn't my first choice to come but hey, why argue with a Reaper?" She chuckled at her bad joke, her eyes flicking to Sam, "Hi Sam."

"Freya," He gave her a little smile and opened the door a little wider.

"I guess I don't get to say this a lot but I'm sorry I lost my shit earlier today. You guys didn't deserve it. I guess I was just so upset with what happened to those teenagers and me thinking it was Steven and whatnot….He didn't deserve to go how he went and I just felt so awful with the poltergeist taking him…I know that's not what happened. Hell, I don't even know what happened to him. I tried not to think about it." She sighed and looked up with a little smile, "Well, he's gone, I'm here so I thought I would bring you guys some news…"

"What is it?" Dean asked, Freya walking inside and sitting down at the little table across from the computer.

"My dad." She said finally. She watched as Dean bristled at the thought of her father but he kept his cool and didn't call her a monster, which was appreciated immensely, "There's something up in the woods. He didn't really tell me where but we could probably find whatever it is."

"What you got a supernatural sonar with that came with the package deal?" Dean teased. Freya shot him a dirty look but continued.

"He also said that I need to team up with you guys. See what I can see." She shrugged her shoulders, "So…what do you think? Wanna tag along?"

Sam looked over at Dean and shrugged, "I'm game."

"Definitely. So…you have no idea what we're up against?" Sam asked, walking over to the sink and grabbing a glass of water.

"I have no idea. He said that it was shrouded by something and he couldn't look inside." She cocked her head and with one deft movement pulled the computer over towards her and opened it up. When she read what was on the computers screen, she looked over at Sam, eyebrow arched, "Really? You were going to try and kill my dad? I wonder how that would work for you."

"Well, we weren't really trying to do anything, honest." Dean tried to assure her but it was too late for them to explain. "So, did anything happen outside of town in the last 20 years?"

She shook her head after thinking for a moment, "No, that's the funny thing. Nothing ever happened besides the girls who drowned in the river but I took care of them a couple years ago. Whatever is up there, I didn't have anything to do with it. Not sure Thomas did either."

"But he's a Reaper." Dean pointed out. Freya rolled her eyes and shut the computer, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Not every evil thing in this world comes from a Reaper. Obviously you should know that." She said defensively. She leaned forward and pursed her lips, looking right at Dean, "Even I know that." This came out softer than she meant, "Now, are we going to go kill something or what?"

The three and Bodinski walked out to Dean's Impala and just about as he was supposed to hop in, Dean cleared his throat, "Uh, no dogs on the upholstery."

"Piss off, Candygram." Freya said but instead of the original tone of voice she had used back at her house, it was playful with a little bit of a smirk. Dean opened his mouth to say something but it was too late, the Saint Bernard was already in the car, drooling and shedding. Pinching his nose, he watched as Freya grabbed her bag out of the back of her pickup and open the trunk of the Impala, "Whoa, nice arsenal you guys got back here."

"What do you have, anyway?" Sam asked, strolling over to her. With a little smile, she pulled out a Remington shotgun, several pistols and something that neither brother had seen on a hunter in a long time: a crossbow, "Why a crossbow?"

"Before my mom died, she used to take me out shooting with it. Said it had been in her family for generations that she and her own father were the first two to ever start using guns. Her dad died young too. It seems to be the family cursed. I'll be damned if I live to be 50." She chuckled and shoved the crossbow back into the bag, "Now come on. We've got…something to defeat."

They crawled into the back of the Impala and took off down Highway 27, just west of town, at Freya's discretion, "How do you know that it's this way out of town?" Sam asked, glancing back at the two passengers.

"I guess Candygram is right. I do have a supernatural sonar. Just…trust me. I know where we're going." She allowed for the dog to place is chin on her leg and sighed, closing his eyes.

"So, how did you end up with the dog?" Dean asked, glancing back in the mirror.

"He kind of ended up with me." She laughed softly, petting her dog's head, "When I was 21, I was drinking myself into definite alcohol poisoning but I heard something scratching on the door. When I went to see what it was, I found Bodinski wet, scrawny and muddy. Ever since then, we've been inseparable. He's been my hunting partner and guard dog for nearly 6 years." She scratched the dog's head affectionately and looked out the car window. "When you reach Hanson road, take a left."

She closed her eyes and sighed, leaning against the window. "Wake me when we reach the end of the road."

Afternoon turned to evening until the car reached Hanson road. "Oh great, more gravel." Dean groaned as the Impala began to bounce up and down. Freya woke up with a snort, looking out the window.

"Are we on Hanson road?" She asked, blinking off her drowsy headache, "God, I need a drink."

"Yes, Your Majesty, we're on Hanson road." Dean muttered sarcastically, "How much farther?"

She closed her eyes and sighed, "Keep going. The road's going to stop and we're going to have to walk. At the end of the road, there's an old mine. We have to go into the mine. That's where…whatever, will be."

"Roger."

They continued on in silence until the road stopped in front of a grove of pine trees, "How much father to the mine?"

"Oh…20 minutes by foot. The hills around here are infamous for their silver ore." She murmured while the car stopped, "Maybe another reason why we get so much activity around these parts."

"Why the hell didn't you tell us this before?!" Dean demanded, "I mean, you know that could have possibly been helpful!"

She shrugged and opened the door. Bodinski promptly jumped out of the car and started barking, scaring off a flock of birds, "I didn't really even think it mattered. Besides, I don't know what we're dealing with around here." Opening the trunk, she pulled out her bag and began to load up, grabbing all her weapons and putting them at random spots on her body, "I thought maybe my dad had something to do with it but with the veil…I have no idea."

"Should be interesting," Sam said, grabbing his own weapons. "Come on, we have a…something to go hunt from Big Daddy Death."

"I don't appreciate you calling my dad that, McFlops." Freya scowled, cocking her shotgun, "Don't think Thomas really appreciates that name either."

"Not so keen on McFlops, I'm sure, eh Sammy?" Dean asked with a wink. Freya cocked a hip and scowled.

"Don't even get me started on you, Candygram." She said with a smirk, "Now come on! We have a little bit of a hike ahead of us."

The trio began to walk between trees, Bodinski leading the way, weaving between the giant trees. Flashlights on, the three tried to pick any sort of trail but the path was completely random. The trees began to thin out about 10 minutes into their walk. Flashlights came on when darkness fell and they were left stumbling over rocks and tree roots. When the mountains began to abruptly touch the sky and silhouette against the twilight sky, Freya began to hear the voices. At first she thought it was a mosquito buzzing around her ear but then she heard the whispers.

_"Daughter of Death, monster, freak!"_ The voice hissed, _"You will never be trusted by anybody, let alone the two brothers who have died a hundred times!"_

"Shut up! Shut it." She snarled. She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned around to see Sam.

"Hey, are you alright?" Sam asked quietly. Freya shrugged off his hand and turned around, shining the flashlight at him.

"Yeah, I'm fine." She snapped, readjusting her shotgun on her shoulder, "Just…something in my ear."

"Liar! Always pushing people away!" The voice hissed again. She furrowed her brows but kept walking, trying to keep up with the brothers. Was this only happening to her? The other two didn't seem to be affected at all.

"There's the mine," She said with some difficulty, pointing a flashlight beam towards the opening. The light beam rippled off something at the mouth, making it look like gas was pouring from the inside of the cave. A rusted cart lay right outside the mine's entrance, making it seem a little more ominous.

"Why does it look like there's gas?" Dean asked suspiciously, slowly and cautiously walking over to he went to touch it.

"Don't!" Freya snapped, "It's probably the veil." However, it was too late. He tried to press his hand through the shimmering mist but found that he couldn't even get a finger through.

"What the hell?!" He snapped, trying to press into the veil, "How…are…we…supposed to fight…something…we can't…even…get…to?!"

"Stop!" Freya said finally, taking a step forward, "I know how to get through it but you have to promise me you'll keep me safe while I'm doing it."

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked as Freya shed her guns and crossbow. Bodinski whimpered and both brothers watched as Freya winced and lay down on the ground.

"There's something in there. Something you can't hear and I need to go and find it before it really causes havoc on my town."

"What the hell is it?! Tell us!" Dean yelled at her. She closed her eyes and sighed, looking up at the first star.

"It's a Wraith," She snapped angrily, "It's probably been feeding on the energy that is left when the people have died. Also probably the reason we've got poltergeists and other things. They're pretty much a bigger ghost. Closely related to Reapers and banshees."

"So…why does it have this barrier around it?" Dean asked angrily, kicking the barrier again.

"Because it thinks it's invincible with it," Freya explained, "My dad can't get through it because he lives in death. You can't do it because you walk on the earth as the living. Wraiths live in the fine line of both. I can reach him but not like this. Now Candygram, will you please shut the hell up?"

Dean narrowed his eyes but shut his mouth, "I can do this but not for long. You just have to promise me that you'll keep me safe, okay?"

"Yeah…okay." Sam said, pulling out his pistol, "But what exactly are you going to do?"

"I'm leaving."

She closed her eyes and slowed her breathing, thinking about the world around her until suddenly, she just…stopped.

"What just happened?" Sam asked, looking down at her body.

"Dude, I think she's dead." Dean muttered, poking her head with the toe of his boot.

"Excuse me," She snapped, standing right behind them, "I'm standing right here, Candygram!"

Of course, they didn't hear her for the same reason that they couldn't see her father or the other world she currently walked in. Technically she was dead but she could ward off the Reapers for at least until she got into the mine. Then she would have the Wraith to deal with. The same Wraith that was whispering in her ear as they walked up here and the same Wraith that had probably been the mother to the poltergeists and ghouls that plagued the town.

"Okay you weirdos, step aside, here we go," She muttered, taking a deep breath. She didn't want to go into this without her guns blazing but maybe her father had wanted Sam and Dean to come with her for a certain reason. Maybe to kill this thing. Maybe she would only take down the barrier. Only time would tell.

She stepped behind the veil and shivered like she had been doused in cold water. Behind the barrier there was nothing but silence. However, underlying the silence there was a tension that she couldn't quite place.

"Hello, Walker." A deep voice hissed from inside the mine, "I knew that you would come. I've been trying to get you out here for months. I didn't think you would bring about friends."

"I didn't really think I would bring friends either." She said coldly, trying to mask her horror with anger. The voice chuckled.

"Didn't you like my little presents I sent to you? The children so wanted to meet you. Especially the one who killed those teenagers." It seethed, "It wanted you to see Steven one last time. You were the one who technically killed them."

She felt her cheek redden and she looked up, "I'm not afraid of you! I've never been afraid."

Suddenly, it was there, in front of her, a giant mass with a grotesque face, "Oh, I know my dear. You hold the power in your blood and we need it. The children need it to live again. We need it to unleash the others who are held back in their prison."

"What are you talking about?!" She snapped angrily, "I can kill you with my blood."

He snarled, showing off a mass of ghostly sharp teeth, "You speak as if you have enough blood in your body to kill me, child."

"Yes, but I know two people that may be able to. They're standing outside this mine right now." She snarled.

"But so is your body, child." He purred, "The children can take your body and spill your blood."

"I'd like to see you try," Freya spat. The Wraith gave her a cold smile and something clattered from his body. She scrambled to pick it up and saw that it was a silver sword.

"You really think you can kill me, Walker? Let's try that theory, shall we?" He purred, "Try and kill me, I dare you."

She raised the sword, wondering how she would fight this creature. "Come face your death, little Walker."

She dodged and tried to fight but it was too much. The Wraith fought back, trying to grab at her hair, clothes, anything that would be easy to grab and in return, she tried to stab at any exposed part of it until finally, it wrapped its stubby fingers around her throat and began to squeeze. She tried in vain to escape but his grip was just too strong.

"Your soul dies now, little hunter." It seethed, squeezing her neck, "You will die now."

"N…No," she grunted, chucking the sword as hard as she could. It hit point first at the veil and stuck there, sinking into the clear gas like substance. Suddenly, as if it were glass, it began to fracture before the entire thing shattered around her into a million little pieces.

"WHAT?! NO!" The Wraith screamed, casting her soul aside. Coughing, she stumbled up and quickly race out of the mine and closed her eyes, the screams of the Wraith still in her ears.

She sat up, gasping for breath. Both Sam and Dean whipped around to see her sitting up.

"What the hell happened?!" Sam demanded.

"Don't worry about that now! Wraith is coming!" She gasped, jumping up and grabbing her crossbow. True to her word, the blackness began to pour out of the cave, and began to emerge into the moonlit clearing.

"You fools!" It seethed, oozing out, "I'm like no creature you have ever faced!"

"Oh we've faced way worse than you, ugly." Dean growled, firing four shots into the creature's body. It turned to him and hissed, going after him. However, Sam wasn't going to allow him to get his brother that easily. They began a game of monkey in the middle as Freya stood helplessly, debating what she should do. Glancing down, she saw that the silver sword still glittered in the moonlight, unscathed. How had she been able to take that with her when she passed through?

Finally deciding that she couldn't stay on the sidelines anymore, she shot an arrow into the creature's head. It screamed in agony, the silver piercing its head and leaving a hole that oozed black blood. The bullets that Sam and Dean had been firing also had left holes in the creature, leaving it angry but definitely not weaker.

"Your blood will spill and open the gate!" The Wraith hissed angrily as she grabbed the sword ripped open her bandages on her forearm, using the blade to open up the stitches. Fresh blood poured from her wound and spilled out onto the blade. However, she couldn't fight it. Not with her arm now torn up and bleeding again. Bodinski tried to fight with the boys but he seemed to just agitate the Wraith. Her arm hung by her side useless.

"Dean!" She called, the other hunter whipping his head over to her general direction.

"WHAT?!" He yelled, trying to keep himself away from the Wraith's mighty claws.

"Take this and kill that goddamned thing!" She screamed, throwing the bloody sword in his general direction. He caught it and gave her a nod, realizing the thing was coated in the toxic blood that would hopefully kill it.

Dean ran at it and sliced off a few tentacles as it came at him before finally stabbing the creature in what would have been his stomach and twisted. With a howl, the creature began to melt into shadows.

"Creatures doomed to live in shadows! You will all die…Armageddon comes! Jezebel comes…She…comes…" With a hiss, the creature disappeared and Dean dropped the sword, his hands smudged with Freya's blood.

"What the hell…" He began to say just as Freya fell to the ground, her arm coated in blood.

"Freya!" Sam hurried over to help her stand up.

"Don't worry, I'm good," She grunted, pulling off her jacket and wrapping it around her arm, "I'll get my friend to patch me up."

"Come on, we need to get back." Dean murmured. The two managed to help Freya back to the car and raced back down the road to get her the help she needed.

* * *

Freya opened her eyes and saw herself laying on her bed, her arm stitched back up and Bodinski laying on her leg. When he saw that she was up, he looked up, his big tail wagging against the bedspread. Julie walked into the room and rolled her eyes, "Honest to God, Freya what the hell am I going to do with you?!"

"Whu…" She began but Julie shut her up with a wave of her hand.

"Your friends dragged you back home at God knows what time and saw that you called me last night, probably about your arm the first time. They called me again, I shot you full of painkillers and here we are. By the way, your friend with the butt chin? Yeah, he's really cute."

"They're…not my friends. Did they say where they went?" She asked, Julie grabbing a box of juice from beside the bed.

"Yeah, they said they'll be back in about 20 minutes. Ran into town to get some supplies." Julie stood up and brushed the dog hair off her jeans, "Anyway, I'll be in the kitchen if you need anything. Honestly, if you get into yourself into trouble one more time, I'm not coming back to help."

"Understood. " She sighed and leaned back into her pillows, drifting in and out of sleep. She was woken up by someone sitting on the end of her bed wearing a black suit.

"Hey Dad," She whispered, "What are you doing here?"

"Well, I was considering asking Death if he could take your friends early but he said they still have a part to play so no death quite yet. Even if Dean calls me Big Daddy Death. Which I'm not," He chuckled and looked over at Freya, "I'm glad you're okay. Glad I didn't have to come and pick up my daughter's soul of out those woods. Of course, I knew you would do it."

"What did he mean by my blood? He said it would unlock the children. What did he mean by that?" She asked. Her father pursed his lips and leaned forward.

"That is hidden to even me, my dear girl. Perhaps you'll know about it someday but for today, I want you to pack a suitcase. Only take the essentials and go with the Winchester boys. They're heading for a destiny that you're intertwined in and a fate that is also yours. Now, go. There's nothing else left for you here."

"But what if…" She began but it was too late, her father was gone.

Shoving the blankets back, she padded across the floor and pulled out a suitcase and began to shove clothes and toiletries into her bag. Bodinski tried to figure out what she was doing but in the end, she knew he would only get in the way.

"Julie?" She called, her best friend jogging into the room, "Hey, uh, there's somewhere I need to go and I need you to look after Bo while I'm gone, okay?"

Julie furrowed her brows and put her hand on her hip, "What are you talking about, Freya Walker?"

"Just…trust me when I say that I will be coming back but it may not be for a while." She gave her friend a sad smile, "Just make sure you take care of him while I'm gone and keep him out of trouble, okay?"

"Yeah, of course." Julie had a feeling she didn't want to know where her friend was going. It probably involved worse than a fucked up arm.

When the Winchesters got back, she was there, waiting for them on the front porch.

"What are you doing out here, Freya?" Sam asked, seeing her suitcase, "And where are you going?"

She tugged on her braid and gave them a little smirk, "Look, I just…God, this is hard to admit but I want to come with you guys. I want to hunt the supernatural, try and make up for the deaths that I might have helped along." She shrugged, "Maybe some atonement is in order. I owe them at least that."

"Wait a minute," Dean said, holding up a hand, "Why should I take you along? You're the daughter of a Reaper!"

She scowled and put her hands on her hips, "Because last night, we worked as a team. I haven't been a team before but I liked it and I want it to continue. Basically, I need a one way ticket out of Bristol and you guys may be my best hope. Bring me along and I'll pull my weight, be one of the guys. I'll help you at every turn on the way, I promise. What do you say?"

Dean hesitated before finally rolling his eyes, "Okay, fine! But you come home when we say it's time to come home!" He grunted, before turning back to the car, "Come on, Sammy, Sundance Kid!"

"Sundance Kid?" Freya asked skeptically.

"Yeah, he's got his nicknames," Sam told her.

"Sounds good, McFlops." She grinned, picked up her suitcase and raced down to the Impala, still shaky from the painkillers. When she heard a certain someone whimper behind her, she turned around to see Bodiniski sitting at the foot of the stairs, his forlorn eyes meeting hers. She leaned down and stroked her dog's ears gently.

"I'll be back soon, Bud. Besides, Julie will watch after you," She planted a kiss on her dog's head before opening the back door of the Impala and threw her suitcase in.

"How long will you be gone?" Julie called from the front steps.

"I don't know! Just look after Bo!" She called back, slamming the door and rolling down the window, "I'll see you soon, okay?"

Julie flashed her a grin and gave her a nod, "Definitely! Don't be gone too long!"

With that, the other two crawled into the front and revved the engine, the Impala driving down the long gravel road, the sun rolling in the North Dakota sky.

* * *

**Now the real adventure begins! Hunting and fighting with her two new friends, Sam and Dean. Thanks to the nice human who left a review on my story! You're the best! Also, thanks to everyone who has been reading this! (Including the real Freya who is sitting here on my bed who actually read the story and giggled. So thank you for giggling, Freya. **

**As always, I don't own anything you recognize. **

**Watching the Lips Lady, **  
**Queenie **


	5. The Little Bastard

It had been a week since Freya had joined up within the little gang and already she was beginning to regret her decision. Most of their days were spent pawing through newspapers and Dean and Sam were both grateful for the extra set of eyes. However, unlike the two brothers she had no experience picking through newspapers like they did.

"This is fucking stupid," She grouched, leaning back in the back of the Impala.

"Well maybe if you could use your little supernatural sonar, we wouldn't have to be have to be picking up every goddamned newspaper between here and Canada." Dean muttered angrily, picking through his own paper.

"Yeah, okay Apocalypse Boy, why don't you use your special little angel powers?" She muttered angrily. They had already filled her in on the whole them being the vessels for Lucifer and Michael. If she had been normal, she probably would have run for the hills but instead chose to stay. Maybe she could help out with the whole Armageddon thing. It made her a little nervous to be sitting in a car with two ticking time bombs but she wanted to help them.

"We're not making any more jokes about this, Freya." Sam snapped angrily, circling something in his newspaper.

"Bah, jokes keep the mood light, McFlops. Take them or leave them, I'll just keep making them." She teased, still looking through the newspapers by the light of a flashlight.

"Hey, I think I found something," Sam said, lifting the paper to his nose.

"Shoot, I'd love to have something that wasn't ghost related." Freya said, putting down the paper, "God, I miss my dog."

He chuckled and glanced in the back, "Well, hopefully this will take your mind off your dog."

"Well then, what's the job?" Dean asked, the streetlights passing over his face and reflecting off the rain.

"Dude suffers from a head on collision with a parked car? I think that's at least checking out."

"But seriously though, apocalypse?" Freya asked, "I'd be more concerned about the end of the world than I would be about a car accident."

"I'm sure the apocalypse will be there when we get back," Dean mused, glancing over at Sam, "Where is it, Sammy?"

"Canton, Ohio." Sam glanced back at Freya, "And we're gonna have to stop at like…a Dress Barn or something and get Freya a suit."

"Oh, I get a suit?" She asked brightly, "I really hope it's a giant panda suit or something…"

Stopping at a dress store outside of Canton, Freya picked up a dark blue skirt suit, "This was not what I had in mind," She scowled, walking out of the dressing room in the pinstripe suit complete with tights and black pumps, "I can't fucking fight in this."

"Hello, Sundance!" Dean whistled, eyeballing her legs.

"Eyes up here, Candygram," She scowled, pointing up at her face. "Now, just tell me what I have to do."

Driving into Canton, she oogled at the sights. She had never once been out of North Dakota and now she was in a different state and seeing new things. Even if she was wearing something she couldn't fight in, she was excited. She was dealing with new sights and smells…it definitely wasn't North Dakota skies and sunshine.

Stopping outside a police station, the three got out of the car and walked up the steps, "Okay Sundance, this is your chance. Don't fuck it up," Dean handed her a badge and she opened it up to see her picture and her 'name', Agent Alexandria Fields.

"Come on," Sam opened the door and the other two stepped inside the cool, air conditioned building. Cops with guns slung low on their hips strolled around, talking with each other and doing the stereotypical cop thing: eating doughnuts.

"And here I was thinking that was all just a myth." Freya muttered as Sam and Dean strolled over to a guy leaned against a desk.

"Can I help you folks?" He drawled, arching an eyebrow. Freya had tossed her hair in a tight bun, giving off a more professional vibe. She had even found a tube of red lipstick at the bottom of her suitcase.

She followed Sam and Dean's lead when they showed off their badges, "Agents Bonham, Copeland and Fields, FBI."

"Agents, Rick Carnige," He shook hands with the three of them before putting his hands in his pockets, "So you're here on account of Cal Hawkin's death?"

"That's right," Freya said, giving the sheriff a little smile.

His face turned sour and he wrinkled his nose, "I'm afraid you came all this way for nothing. We already booked the guy who did it."

Sam and Dean glanced at each other before Sam spoke.

"I'm sorry; who do you think did it?" He asked.

"Come on," Rick showed the trio down a hall to an interview room. On a table inside there was a small TV and VCR player. The sheriff grabbed another chair and the they sat down, to watch the video. The sheriff hit play and they watched the horror unfold. The video was shaky but they could see the horror that was unfolding.

"Hey, Cal?" The man on the video called out to his friend, rounding a corner only to see carnage. His head was smashed straight in half by the windshield, "Oh my God! Cal, CAL!"

Rick shook his head and turned off the TV, turning back to the three who sat across from him. "Sicko taped his own handiwork." He scowled, shaking his head.

Freya glanced over at a confused looking Sam and Dean who looked at each other, "I don't follow." Sam said.

"It was Jim Grossman that killed Cal!" Rick tried to explain. Freya arched an eyebrow and leaned back.

"But he had no motives, no nothing." She said, glancing over at Dean with a nod.

"Yeah…well he was the only one around for miles," The sheriff tried to dispute but Freya pursed her lips, thinking.

"They were best friends," Sam tried to explain but the sheriff would have none of it.

"Most violent crimes are committed by someone close to the victim."

Dean scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest, "And how exactly did Jim slam Cal into a windshield with all the force of an eighty-mile-per-hour crash?"

The sheriff didn't even have an answer for that one and merely blinked at them before finally coming up with, "Drugs, maybe?" Seeing that this wasn't helping his case at all he continued, "Look, you know this ain't brain surgery! Whatever it looks like, that's what it usually is. It's simple."

Dean scoffed again, "Simple. Right. I wish."

Sam spoke up, "Right, er, if you don't mind we'd like to speak to Jim Grossman anyway."

"You got it, right this way." He led them down a hall to a group of holding cells, a man sitting behind the bars of one.

"I was in the house when it happened," he said solemnly, "I didn't even see it happen."

"For argument's sake, we'll believe you." Dean said coolly.

He looked up at the trio, his eyes narrowing, "Why would you? The cops didn't."

Freya chuckled, "Trust me, we're not your everyday doughnut munching cops. We're here to help."

"Please, just tell us what you saw," Sam tried to coax out of him. Jim sighed and closed his eyes.

"It's not what I saw, it's what I heard. Tires squealing, glass breaking." He sighed lightly and opened them again, "It was the car that did it."

Eyebrows were raised all around, "The…car?" Freya asked, "What do you mean the car?"

He continued on like he hadn't heard them, "I mean, I heard about the curse, but I just thought it was a load of crap."

"Curse, what curse?" Dean asked, leaning forwards.

"I mean Little Bastard!" Jim said irritably, as if they should have known what he was talking about instantly. Dean seemed to know since he went almost as white as a sheet.

"L…Little Bastard?" he asked, leaning forward, "As in _the_ Little Bastard?"

Freya furrowed her brow, "Wait…what are we talking about right now?" She asked, "Who's little bastard?"

"It's not a what, it's a who," he chided, "It's James Dean's car. It's the one that he was killed in."

Jim perked up at this mention, "Yeah! That's the one. Cal had been looking for it for years. I mean, hell, we both had. He just found it first."

"We are definitely checking this out," Dean said, grinning at both his brother and Freya.

* * *

Dean strolled around Little Bastard, careful not to lay even a finger on the car. Freya's stomach did a flip when she saw a piece of Cal's head still sticking to the windshield, "Oh that's gross," She grumbled, pointing at the piece of head.

"So, what is this like, Christine?" Sam asked, indicating to the car.

"No, Christine is fiction, this…" he shook his head and smiled down at the car, "This is real."

"Okay, I'm praying I'm not the only confused person on the block here. So Candygram, if you would." She motioned to the car and Dean sighed.

"Yeah Dean, enlighten us," Sam said, a little grin on his face. Dean made a face but continued with the story.

"After James Dean died, his mechanic bought the wreckage and he fixed it up. And it repaid him by…well, falling on him."

"Wait, so the car is cursed?!" Freya demanded.

"Cool your jets, Sundance." He snapped, getting a glowering look from his new partner in crime, "And after that, Tom McHenry was killed when the brakes locked up on the racetrack. I mean, death follows this car around like exhaust. Nobody touches it and comes away in one piece."

"Hmm," Sam hummed, his eyebrows furrowed.

"Then, in 1970, it vanished off the back of a truck. Nobody's seen it since." Dean finished, still looking at the car like it was a piece of meat, "Well, that is until today."

"Well that is if it's the real deal." Freya said skeptically, "Which in this case, it might actually be the real deal."

"I'm telling you, if this car is Little Bastard, I will bet dollars to doughnuts that it's what killed the guy." Dean reassured them.

"So how do we find out?" Sam asked.

"Cal matched the VIN number but the only real way of knowing is the engine number," Dean explained, eyeballing the hood nervously.

"Something tells me you're not looking forward to this," Freya said with a little smirk.

"Well, it also happens that the engine number is on…"

"The engine, obviously," Sam finished the sentence, still looking down at the car.

Freya watched as both boys removed their FBI jackets and rolled up their sleeves. She had half hoped to get her dreams of seeing shirtless mechanics fulfilled but alas, those dreams would have to wait another day.

"You want me to do it?" Sam asked, wrinkling his noise.

"No…No, I've got it," Dean muttered, already turning to the car, "Okay baby, I'm not gonna hurt you so…don't hurt me."

"Don't die or anything." Freya teased, arching an eyebrow.

"You…just shut your face, Sundance." Dean finally said, dropping down onto roller board, pencil in mouth.

"Very clever comeback, Candygram." She muttered, leaning up against the workbench. Sam motioned for her to toss him the flashlight sitting next to her before dropping next to Dean, offering him the light.

"Need a flashlight?" He asked. Freya laughed but disguised it as a cough when she saw Dean jump visibly under the car.

"No. Don't…do anything. Just got away." He snapped. Sam shrugged at Freya who swung her legs, watching the operation go down, "Don't speak, all right? In fact, don't even look at her. She might not like that. That goes for you too, Sundance Kid!" He shouted under the car. She threw her hands up defensively.

"Hey! I wouldn't dream of it, Candygram," She shot back, grinning when she heard Dean sigh under the engine. After a few minutes, Dean rolled back out from underneath the car, obviously shaken, handing Sam a piece of paper.

"Find out who owned it. Not just the last owner, you gotta take it all the way back to 1955," Dean explained, watching his brother's eyebrows come together.

"That's a lot of research," Sam observed, looking at his brother. Dean clapped him on the shoulder and then looked past both him and Freya to the garage door.

"Well, I guess I made your afternoon." With that, he grabbed his jacket and walked out of the garage, whistling a tune, thankful that he lived to see another day.

* * *

Freya sat in a library, thankful to be back in her sneakers, jeans and jacket, pawing through an old book. She had left Sam to his research and had continued to do research of her own, coming across several Jezebels throughout history. The one that caught her eye was the Hebrew Jezebel.

"What are you looking at?" Sam asked, sitting down next to her. She looked up, arching her eyebrow.

"An eye for an eye. What did you find?" She asked, leaning over to see what Sam was looking at. He cleared his throat and straightened out the papers, "The last owners all the way back from 1955. It's not Little Bastard."

"Damn! Here I was getting so excited that this was a supernatural case," She said sarcastically, before turning her eyes back to the book, "What do you know about Jezebel?"

"You mean like the Jezebel in the Bible? Married to King Ahab, killed a thousand of God's prophets." He stated, "In the end, she was pushed from her window and dogs ate her flesh. Yeah, I know her."

Freya blinked a few times before a wry grin graced her face, "Well, well, well! Look at your, McFlops! Mr. Walking Encyclopedia over here! I didn't even have to do my research."

Same gave her a grin before glancing over her shoulder, "Er, why are you looking up Jezebel?"

She slammed the book shut and closed her eyes, "Oh, just what that Wraith said. I was just whetting my appetite for knowledge."

Sam didn't really seem to believe her but he didn't want to pry, "Okay then…Well, now we have to go and find Dean and tell him that the car isn't Little Bastard."

"Roger, I'm right behind you, McFlops."

He pulled out his phone and the two exchanged words that Freya couldn't hear the other end. It turned out that Candygram turned out to be at a bar, flirting it up. With a roll of his eyes, Sam used the "I've been working my ass off all day" excuse. Finally, he broke the news to Dean.

"The car's first owner was a cardiologist in Philly. He didn't even die until 1972." He listened to something Dean had to say before stating the obvious, "That car never belonged to James Dean. It's a fake Little Bastard."

_"How did he die?" _Freya could hear that as clear as day.

"No idea." Sam admitted. The brothers bade goodbye and Sam hung up the phone, "Well, it looks like we're back to Square One."

"Oh good," Freya muttered sarcastically, "I love going back to Square One."

* * *

"Oi, Sundance Kid, shake and bake," Dean threw a shoe at her. She groaned and curled up tighter on the couch, "We got another death."

"Go away," She grunted, closing her eyes. Suddenly, Dean's words registered with her and she sat up, hair stuck in her mouth, "Oh wait. Did you say death?"

"Yeah. Now tame that monster you call a hair and let's go!" Glancing over, she saw Dean and Sam already in their suits, ready to rock and roll.

"Okay, okay, give me 10 minutes." She said, jumping off the couch and rushing to the bathroom.

When they arrived, police officers scurried around like ants that had gotten the scent of sugar. Freya shifted uncomfortably from side to side on her too-tall of heels. She felt uncomfortable, like she didn't belong. Now she realized what Sam had felt when he stood on her front porch only a week ago. In the middle was Sheriff Carnige, directing the flow of traffic.

"I want you to comb the area with a fine tipped comb! The evidence is here, we just gotta find it." He frowned, his brow furrowing in frustration.

"Sheriff," Dean greeted. The ruffled man turned to greet the trio and all could see the dark bags under his eyes, "Heard you had another weird one."

He sighed and looked back towards the house, "Uh, well, it's a-it's a little strange on the surface, I admit, but, uh...you know, once you-you look at the facts..." He shrugged.

"William Hill died from a gunshot wound to the head. No gun, no gunpowder, no bullet." Sam stated. Freya arched an eyebrow. These boys came prepared.

"Nope, nothing strange about that at all," Freya said sarcastically, pushing past the two boys towards the house, "Well, we're not going to find anything standing out here on the lawn. Shall we?"

"Well there's got to be a reasonable explanation. There always is," The Sheriff stated. Dean scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest, taking a step towards the house.

"What's your reasonable excuse?"

Carnige looked around cautiously before leaning forward, Freya taking two steps towards the sheriff to get in on the juicy gossip.

"Professional killer." He announced. Dean looked to Sam who in turn looked to Freya, before looking back at the sheriff in disbelief.

"Uh…Come again?"

He shrugged but could tell that this realization might have gotten him in trouble, "Well, CIA, NSA…one of those trained assassins, like in Michael Clayton."

Freya's jaw hung slack for a few moments before she cleared her throat, "Right."

Carnige took a step back and sighed, straightening his jacket, "You're more than welcome to take a look but these guys don't leave fingerprints."

"Mind if we talk to the witness?" Sam asked, thumbing over to the Latino lady who was standing but the gardenia bush.

"Be my guest. She's not making any sense though. She's not even making sense in Spanish!"

Dean nodded slowly before looking back over at their witness, "Right."

They had learned with Sam's rudimentary Spanish skills that the maid had seen none other than Abe Lincoln kill her boss. Freya had resisted every urge to roll her eyes but when they found themselves back in the hotel room several hours later, she had leaned over Sam's shoulder, beer in hand, watching him paw through what they thought may be evidence.

"Whoa," Dean muttered, the other two knowing that he was still looking at Cal's death video. The fake Little Bastard gleaming in the video.

"What are we looking at, Candygram?" Freya asked, walking over to the other side of the table and sitting down in the chair, scooting it closer to Dean.

"It's a freeze-frame from Jim Grossman's video." He turned the computer around so Sam could see it. He stopped it and both could visibly see someone's reflection standing behind him, "Am I crazy or does that look just like James Dean?"

Sam cocked his head to the side slightly and scoffed lightly, "That looks like James Dean."

Freya narrowed her eyes and peered at the screen, "James Dean, eh? So, it really was James Dean that killed Cal and not the car itself?"

"No idea," Dean mused, "So now we've got Abraham Lincoln AND James Dean?!"

Frowning, Sam tried to offer his explanation, "Famous ghosts?"

"Maybe," Freya cocked her head and looked at James Dean on the screen, "Seems funny for famous ghosts to be hanging around the houses of your average Joe Shmoe."

"Well, you know there's a ton of lore on famous ghosts, more than you'd imagine. Actually, more than the non-famous variety. I'm surprised we haven't run into one before."

"But how did we get two of them? And how did they get to be super pissed off?" Dean asked, shutting the laptop's lid.

"Who are apparently killing their fans," Freya said, looking back over at Sam's laptop.

Dean leaned forward, "What do you mean?" He asked, Sam beating her to the chase.

"Professor Hill was a Civil War nut. He dug Lincoln."

"And Cal must've been a James Dean freak. He spent 17 years of his life tracking down the guy's car."

"Sucks it was a fake. Especially because he died," Freya muttered, taking a swig of beer, "I mean, could you imagine finding a car and then dying because of it? Well, I guess you couldn't imagine it because you'd be like…I dunno, fucking dead."

"Shut up, Sundance." Dean said, borderline irritated. Freya made a motion like a zipper and pretended to throw away the key, "So you're saying we've got two super-famous, super-pissed-off ghosts killing their…Super fans?"

Sam shrugged, "That's what it looks like."

"Well that it muchos locos," Dean said with a smirk, leaning back in his chair, fingers interlaced behind his head. Freya rolled her eyes and leaned forward on the table, putting her head down on the cool wood. The boys got into an argument over proper usage of "very" and "much" in Spanish before Freya cut in.

"The big question is what the hell are they doing here?" She asked, polishing off her beer. Her hand was still raw but it was slowly getting better. She was lucky that the knife hadn't sliced straight through tendons, rendering it useless.

"Ghosts usually haunt the places they lived," Sam said, looking up at the blonde, "I mean, I get Abraham Lincoln at the White House…"

"But what about James Dean?" Dean finished, "I mean, the car wasn't even really Little Bastard."

"Well," Freya said standing up, "There is more to find out in tomorrow's amazingly exciting adventure but for now, I need to visit a bar and get wasted. That FBI suit makes me feel all stuffy."

Dean looked over at her with dewy eyes, "Marry me, Sundance Kid."

Freya scoffed and plopped down on the bed, changing through channels, "In your dreams, Candygram."

* * *

**So, yes, this is following the plot of the show, starting mid-season 5ish. I'm going to try and keep this as accurate as possible with my own flare, including dialogue from the show. (Thank you to the lovelies at Forever Dreaming for the transcripts!) **

**Anyway, thanks to Isis who reminded me that neither Dean or Sam have blue eyes but our dear Cas does! Also, thanks to the anon reviewer! Glad you're enjoying the story so far! To all who have followed and favorited this story! You guys are the apple to my pie! Or pecans or cherries or whatever. Well, until next time, my dears! Keep the reviews, critiques and whatnot flowing! Feeds my brain!**

**With her legs falling asleep, **  
**Queenie **


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